When you transferred to Constance Billard, all you wanted was to blend in.

You’d heard the stories—the impossible fashion standards, the rivalries, the social hierarchies that made even the teachers tread carefully. You told yourself you’d stay invisible, get through the year, and move on.

That plan shattered the moment Serena Vanderwoodsen walked into your life.

It was your second day, and you were sitting alone in the courtyard, pretending to scroll through your phone to avoid looking lost. Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw her—gliding through the crowd like she didn’t walk but floated. Everyone’s heads turned. She was the Serena Vanderwoodsen—the golden girl of the Upper East Side, the one everyone whispered about but adored all the same.

And somehow, she noticed you.

“New face,” she said, stopping in front of your bench with a smile that could melt ice. “I’m Serena.”